A ten second head start. (Part two)
"A ten second head start." (Part two) Fear washed through him, dark wide eyes glanced from one exit to the other and it was when Dean hit seven that he finally bolted, the sack of basketballs he had been holding forgotten on the floor. Eddie’s feet took him as fast as they could, but he knew he wasn’t quick enough to outrun Dean, so he went for another strategy. Straight into the locker room. “One!” There was an undeniable fury twisted into his words and god, Eddie thought he would actually piss himself right then and there. By the time the locker room door hammered against the brick wall, frantic fingers were finding the lock on the bathroom stall. Every movement was hurried, desperate even and if anything, it actually made Eddie slower and he was pretty sure that it would just get Dean even more wound up. It was like a predator stalking his grey, revelling in the hunt before he stuck him down. “Come out, come out wherever you are, Munson!” Dean seethed, fist rattling against each and every locker he walked past. His movements were slow, precise. The sound shot through Eddie, forcing his knees to buckle just enough that he even stepped up onto the toilet in a hopeless attempt to hide where he was. Eddie knew it was futile, he knew he would be found and the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes would just make him an easier target. “Munson!” Shoulders raised, he sank down into a crouch on the toilet, shifting only enough to stop his feet from slipping down into the water. Fear completely encased him, like a tomb of his own making. He just wished he would have remembered to gut himself before he did it, it might have stopped the yelp that gurgled out of his throat when Dean’s fist met the bathroom stall door. “Come out Munson! You can’t hide in there forever you f***ing queer!” A foot met the wood now, hard enough to rattle it right down to the hinges. “Just leave me alone!” He begged and he begged and he begged. Cradled hands raised to tear across his shaved head, eyes locked tight enough to block out even the blinding lights of the locker room. “You’re f***ing dead! You hear me?! F***ing dead!” The words were vociferous, accompanied by an insistent kick to the door. One more kick found the door with an exasperated grunt on the other side and he knew Dean was trying to take the door down. He hoped to whatever f***ing higher up being that was listening that the hinges would hold. They were his gates of Gondor; the only thing stopping him from losing the battle without reinforcements that weren’t coming. When the rattling stopped abruptly, Eddie was honestly surprised the hinges were still intact from the way Dean had been battering into it. He hadn’t heard the reprieve of footsteps, so locked onto his own survival that had no idea if the football start was still outside the door; if he was waiting for him to come out, ready to pounce. So, he waited. He wasn’t sure for how long, but it was enough time that he finally heard the locker room door thump against the brick wall as it had when Dean first entered. Eddie didn’t move. He didn’t dare even move a muscle, straining to hear any noises within the cage he was trapped. A footstep, a sweep of material; but there was nothing. There was complete silence other than Eddie’s own heavy breath and the faint flicker of the lightbulbs above him. He was alone. Dean had finally given up.
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